


Something Phenomenal

by DoreyG



Category: Stanton & Barling - E.M. Powell
Genre: Anal Sex, Drunk Sex, First Time, M/M, Making Out, Truth or Dare, post-book 1, pre-book 2
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-13
Updated: 2020-07-13
Packaged: 2021-03-05 04:14:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,207
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25238290
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DoreyG/pseuds/DoreyG
Summary: "You know," he said, slurring his words as he spoke. "I think I may be drunk."
Relationships: Aelred Barling/Hugo Stanton
Comments: 2
Kudos: 3
Collections: Rare Male Slash Exchange 2020





	Something Phenomenal

**Author's Note:**

  * For [greygerbil](https://archiveofourown.org/users/greygerbil/gifts).



"You know," he said, slurring his words as he spoke. "I think I may be drunk."

"No," Stanton mock gasped from his feet, and turned the sunlit smile that always made his heart beat a little faster up at him. "Drunk after two bottles of wine? It can't be so. Such a thing has never happened before."

Usually he would flinch away from the feelings that Stanton's smile provoked in him. Would stutter, and snap, and throw a wall up between them as easily as breathing. But, with the alcohol lending him liquid courage in abundance, he no longer felt like such cowardice: he looked his fill, allowed his eyes to obviously linger. "It was not two bottles."

Stanton looked shocked for a moment, at his open perusal, and then… Amused. He turned around fully, curved his long fingers around the arms of the chair and levered himself up on his knees. "The two empty bottles by your side would disagree."

“I’m not seeking to deny the absolutely obvious, Stanton. I only meant to point out that I didn't drink them alone.” He sniffed, leant a little into Stanton’s intoxicating proximity. The urge to be his usual self, stuffy and snooty and flinching away from all contact, was strong but he ignored it just as handily as before. “You were an equal partner in this madness, drinking even more than me.”

“I'm an equal partner in everything you do, lately,” Stanton said, hardly sounding displeased by the thought. Instead there was a conspiratorial look in his eye, one that downright invited confidences. “This is a silly thing to argue over. You know that, right?”

God, that look could drive a man to madness. He found himself swaying towards it automatically, leaning forward until he was practically in Stanton’s pretty face. “Is it really an argument if one participant is so obviously in the right?”

“Yes, especially when that one participant is so obviously _not_ in the right,” Stanton said, and gave a husky laugh that he felt all through his body. “We could be doing far more fun things than squabbling over semantics, have you ever considered that?”

“Squabbling over semantics is fun,” he said loftily, mainly just so he could make Stanton snort another one of those alluring laughs. “But… I take your point. I should probably at least make an effort to expand my horizons, to do different things in different situations and not just pursue my usual pleasures.”

“You are adorable,” Stanton declared, with what could only be described as a giggle, and tilted forward until he was practically sprawled over his lap. “How did I not notice it before? You are the most adorable person that I’ve ever met.”

“Perhaps you didn’t notice it because it isn’t true,” he said waspishly, and cupped his hands around Stanton’s chin to provide him some extra support. A part of him was screaming for him to just shove the man back and get started on sobering up immediately, but that part of him was very firmly ignored. “Stop lounging around, and actually think. What should we do that’s fun?”

“Lounging around is fun. We could just try lounging around drunkenly for a bit, you’ve never done _that_ before.” Stanton smiled up at him again, actually _nuzzled_ into his palms in a way that made his heart melt a little in his chest. “But, no, you’re right-”

“I didn’t say anything,” he had to point out, absent mindedly stroking his little finger over Stanton’s absurdly soft skin.

“-You’re _right_ , that’s probably not fun enough,” Stanton said deliberately, and looked up at him with determined eyes. Dear lord, he really was the most attractive man that he’d ever laid eyes on. “We should do something different, something _better_. Hey, do you want to play a game?”

“Depends on what sort of game,” he said cautiously, as cautiously as he can manage at the moment with the alcohol still making everything quite hazy. “I’m good at mental… You know, _games_. I’m terrible at physical matters. I don’t think I have any kind of coordination.”

“I know that, I’ve seen you falling off enough horses,” Stanton teased, and rocked back from him with a laugh as he scowled and swatted pointedly at the man’s shoulder. “Don’t worry, it’s technically kind of neither. Have you ever heard of something called truth or dare? You probably haven’t, it can be quite debauched-”

“I have heard of something called truth or dare,” he said haughtily, attempting to give Stanton his most disapproving look and probably failing terribly. “Of course I have. I haven’t always been the stuffy clerk you currently see sitting before you.”

Stanton settled back on his haunches, looking intrigued. It was probably a good thing that the man was no longer in his lap, it was definitely a good thing and he shouldn’t feel disappointed at _all_. “You haven’t?”

“No,” he said, and attempted a disapproving look again. It definitely wasn’t working, by the smirk Stanton gave him in response he merely looked _adorable_ again. “It sounds fun enough, if obviously frivolous and inappropriate and not at all what a teacher and student should be doing in their spare time together. I’ll do it, on one condition.”

Stanton rolled his eyes, very obviously, and then grinned at him once again to soften any sting. “Go on, then.”

“You don’t get to ask me to tell you anything about when I _wasn’t_ a stuffy clerk,” he said deliberately, somewhat proud that he was able to guard himself even with his head in a completely different world. “And you don’t get to dare me to tell you, either. The distant past is entirely off limits.”

“Aw,” Stanton said, and pouted for a moment. But there was a mildly relieved look in his eyes, like he had skeletons in his closet too. “Probably for the best, though. No need to dredge up the past. It’d make the whole thing less fun.”

“Which is the point,” he noted, shoving down his curiosity brutally.

“Which is, you’re right, the _point_ ,” Stanton drawled, and grinned at him. It was amazing, and incredibly admirable, how quickly he could snap back to his usual irreverent self. “Go on then. You should get started with it, considering that you’re the one that agreed to it so eagerly.”

"By that logic, you should be the one who… you know what there's no point in arguing with you." He sniffed primly, drew himself up in his chair as Stanton gave him another ready smirk. "Truth or dare?"

"Let's start off with an easy one, " Stanton said, his tone thoughtful. "Truth."

"If only you could spend this much thought on actually important things, " he said, and accepted the roll of Stanton's eyes as his due. He really had to be drunk, if he found such a sight endearing. "Alright, then… Uh. Where were you born?"

"That is both dredging up the past, and the weakest truth or dare related question I've ever heard." Stanton said with a healthy amount of scorn, but a small smile still readily quirking up his lips. "I'd refuse to answer, but it doesn't seem worth it. I was born in Essex. On a farm, with far too many siblings who I no longer see."

"That makes sense, " he said, Stanton's smile going a long way to soothe any hurt feelings. It was absurd, that smile, it was the kind of sight that could cause a perfectly normal person to commit acts of madness. "You have the general bearing of a man who didn't receive enough attention as a child."

Stanton snorted, but also hardly seemed offended. His easy, giddy, smile simply stubbornly remained. "Truth or dare?"

"Go on, then, show me how inadequate I am." He settled back in his chair, summoned up a challenging look simply because he suspected that Stanton would enjoy it. "Truth."

"You're not inadequate," Stanton said, with an entirely surprising passion. And then blinked, and carried on so quickly that he was left reeling and wondering if the moment had actually happened. "You just need a bit of guidance, that's all. have you ever actually slept with anybody? "

He found himself profoundly glad that they hadn't opened a third bottle of wine, as he would've spat any mouthful he had right across the room. As it was, he almost choked on his own tongue. " _What_?"

"Now that's a proper truth or dare question, one that gets right to the heart of the thing," Stanton said, somewhat smugly. His eyes were kind, though, as he shifted a little closer to his knees in a way that really shouldn't have been soothing but most definitely was. "You can veto, if you want. though we probably should've discussed what a veto would involve beforehand. Another sip of wine, maybe…? "

"I'm not going to use a veto. Let you get me even more drunk? Utter foolishness." He huffed, and rolled his eyes. There was still a certain sense of nervousness in his chest, but Stanton's proximity rather helped with that. "I have slept with somebody. With two somebodies, in fact. It was a while ago, but… Yes."

"Oh," Stanton looked distractingly intrigued. Honestly, how did he manage to make the most commonplace of expressions alluring? "Who were-?"

"Wait your turn. Or don't, because that question is most certainly not within the spirit of the agreed upon rules, " he said haughtily, and was surprised when Stanton didn't even roll his eyes but instead just continued to look ever so thoughtful. "Truth or dare? "

Stanton regarded him for a moment more, narrow eyed, and then gave a seemingly casual shrug. While he appreciated the effort, he wasn't sure that he'd ever been drunken enough not to see the falsehood behind that. "Go on, then, Truth."

Still a little irritated from Stanton's daring, still a little flushed by the heat it provoked in him, he took brief refuge in old habits. His tone was mildly snappish, when it emerged from his mouth. "Why didn't you put any effort into life, before you met me?

Stanton hesitated for a long moment, his lovely mouth pursing. The pause was long enough for him to feel a sharp, somewhat confusing stab of guilt. “I suppose it was because, not going too deeply into forbidden topics, I was scared of what would happen if I did put any effort in. You know what life is like, it takes and it takes and it _takes_ and if you’re unlucky it leaves you with absolutely nothing when it’s done. I didn’t want to go through that ag- I didn’t want to go through that, so I tried my best to distance myself.”

“Oh. I do know what that’s like,” he said, and felt the guilt in his chest transform into a throb of pure empathy. “But then you met me.”

“Yes, then I met you. And before I knew it, I started to care about things yet again.” Stanton stared into space for a long moment, and then gave a very slight smile and focused back on him. He wasn’t entirely sure how to respond to the look shining in the pretty man’s eyes, but he settled on a vivid blush as his best option. “Truth or dare?”

“Truth, again,” he said quietly, feeling compelled to offer tit for tat in response to Stanton’s quiet confession. He really _had_ to be drunk, if he still felt comfortable baring himself to such a degree.

“Excellent.” Stanton grinned, wide and full, and he found himself bracing instinctively for a gently prying question that would make him want to tear his own skin off when he sobered up. But to his surprise, the man went in an entirely different direction than expected. “Do you actually mind, that I’ve been foisted on you?”

“Do I-?” He blinked, at the obviousness of the question. But he wasn’t drunk enough to miss the hopeful look in Stanton’s shining eyes, the hint of uncertainty as if he actually cared for the answer produced. “Stanton, are you asking me if I _like_ you?”

It was Stanton’s turn to blush now, significantly less vividly than he did - which was a mercy, he would wish his blushes on no other person - but still utterly undeniably. “That wasn’t what I said.”

“It was what you meant,” he pointed out, absolutely accurately judging by the way that Stanton’s blush only deepened. The man, the ridiculously attractive man, actually cared for his good opinion. The fact lodged in his chest, flowered there giddily in a way he hadn’t experienced since the regrettable days of Richard. “I admit that our association was forced upon me at first, Stanton, and I took to it with ill grace. But you thoroughly proved yourself on that case, and have been a loyal and competent ally ever since.”

“Oh,” Stanton said, looking actively surprised. Hm, despite appearances maybe he wasn’t the only one who had the poisonous voice of his mind whispering to him in the dark. “That’s… Well, that’s good to know.”

“You’re good to have around,” he admitted, glad for the drink loosening his tongue, and leant forward again until he could briefly brush his hand against the side of Stanton’s face. “I do like you, Stanton. More than anybody else I’ve ever met, to tell truth.”

Stanton stared at him in utter and open shock for a moment, his eyes wide open and his jaw dropping just a little. It should’ve been an utterly gormless expression, a humiliating one on anybody else. Stanton, of course, still looked like an angel from heaven, “I… Thank you, Barling.”

He smiled a little, sat back with a brief brush of his thumb over Stanton’s terribly attractive cheekbone. “Truth or dare?”

Stanton stared at him for a long moment more, his eyes still wide and startled, and then made an indecipherable noise and shifted closer to him. The look in the man’s eyes was challenging, and still somehow hopeful, as he said, “dare.”

Oh dear. He pursed his lips for a moment, well aware that Stanton was probably expecting yet another pathetic showing. Suddenly, urged on by the alcohol and the intimacies spilling between them, he was aware that he wanted to do something shocking. Something that would truly set the cat amongst the pigeons, and probably make his sober self wail in horror. "Take your tunic off."

Stanton looked shocked again, not quite as much as before but still not an insignificant amount. Strange, unfair, how he managed to make even that poleaxed expression look attractive. "What?"

"You heard me," he said imperiously, or as close as he could get to imperiously when his blood was half alcohol and his heart was trying to pound out of his chest with last minute regrets. "Take off your tunic. Unless _you_ want to veto…"

"I don't want to veto, I just wasn't expecting it," Stanton said, still looking confused. But then gave a far more genuine shrug, and hooked his fingers under the heavy fall of fabric over his body. It was hardly a complex garment, Stanton didn't have enough money for that. It was the work of a moment for the man to draw it over his head and send it carelessly off to the side.

He had to bite his tongue to avoid ordering Stanton to go fetch it and fold it properly, such words would be only nerves and he could not abide nerves at this hazy point. He could see the man's body far more clearly now that the concealing fabric was gone. Stanton was wearing a standard shirt, standard braies and standard hose. His legs were long and shapely, the braies seemed to actually cling to the secret place between his legs and the golden hair covering his forearms was a thing of beauty.

Stanton cleared his throat, pointedly, and it was only in that moment that he realized that he'd been shamelessly staring. He snapped his eyes up, feeling heat flare in his cheeks, and met Stanton's faintly shocked and definitely gleeful gaze.

"Like what you see?" The man asked, trying so hard to be casual but practically vibrating with smug joy.

"Uh," he said, utterly mortified, and wondered if a human being could spontaneously combust from shame. "I - that is to say- _um_. Isn't it my turn?"

Stanton’s smirk should’ve annoyed him, would’ve annoyed him if he’d had just a little more presence of mind, but instead sent another unfortunate spear of sensation to his cock. The man somehow shifted closer, yet again, until they were just a breath away from touching. “Truth or dare?”

Tit for tat, yet again. He swallowed, briefly, and then resigned himself to the insanity. “Dare.”

“Good,” Stanton’s eyes glimmered, remained on him with a certain level of intent. It was starting to become increasingly clear why he’d gotten so many people into bed, it would take a saint to resist a look like that. “Why don’t you loosen _your_ clothes a little, Barling. You must be getting hot in here, what with all the daring.”

He could veto, the option was absolutely open to him, but somehow he didn’t feel inclined to do so. He didn’t even bother to swallow this time before reaching for the edge of his own tunic, didn’t even finger the rough fabric before grasping it and drawing it off over his head. When it was off, a great deal more neatly than Stanton’s even with all the confusing sensations flooding his body, he even went so far as to loosen the ties of his shirt. Just a little, just to keep to the spirit of the thing.

Stanton’s eyes had gone dark, in a way that he’d never seen before. The man perused him intently, with a gaze so hot that he practically felt it like a touch against his skin. “Well.”

“Truth or dare?” He asked, his voice breathless when it emerged but still absolutely and utterly willing.

Stanton stared at him with those hot eyes for a moment more, and then quirked another smile. He didn’t know how the man got away with those smiles, they should’ve been made illegal long ago. “Dare.”

There were a thousand things he could’ve said to finish this situation and return to sanity, a thousand things he could’ve said to escalate it to a point of pure terror. Instead of either of those options he chose a sort of middle ground, drew in a deep breath and tried not to let his voice shake with hope. “Come and sit next to me.”

Stanton stared at him for a second, thoughtful yet again, and then gave another one of his casual shrugs. In the next moment, before anything like fear could enter into the equation, the man rose smoothly to his feet and stepped towards the chair. When he shifted to the side, his heart in his throat, Stanton took the opportunity offered and sunk down neatly besides him.

The chair was fairly big, and so the only parts of them that touched were their thighs. He still felt it like a brand against him, their intimate skin separated by only a few scraps of fabric. They stared at each other for a long few moments wordlessly, up close now, Yet again a thousand possibilities were stretching ahead, and he wasn’t quite sure how to grasp them.

Stanton, as ever, had far better ideas on the subject than him. The man hesitated for only a moment more, and then gave a tentative smile that immediately blew any nerves far away. “Truth or dare?”

He felt a surge of relief in his chest, at the knowledge that he wouldn’t be going into this strange new world alone. He studied Stanton’s face for a long moment, hesitant and eager all at once, and then made his choice as easily as that. “Dare.”

He expected Stanton to immediately go for something daring, to immediately break this strange and fragile atmosphere of hope between them and force a conclusion. But he was wrong, Stanton was far kinder and far softer than that. Instead the other man only smiled, and leaned into his side just a little. “Say my name. My first name, not the one you usually use to scold me.”

“I only scold you when you deserve it,” he said, in a distracted whisper. He couldn’t focus much on the teasing, not when all that his drunken mind wanted was sitting right besides him and looking at him in such a way “...Hugo.”

Stanton’s reaction to that was unexpected, but utterly gratifying. His eyes fluttered shut for a long moment, his golden eyelashes delicate against his skin, and when they opened again they were disbelieving and wondering all at once. Beautiful, in every single way. “Say it again?”

“Hugo,” he said deliberately, pitching his voice as low as it could go. He no longer felt like playing around, no longer felt like trying frantically to protect himself. He was all in now, the alcohol had made sure of that, and he was absolutely _loving_ it. “Your turn. Truth or dare?”

Stanton swallowed, he was so close that he saw the man’s Adam's Apple bobbing under the tender skin of his throat, and then smiled again irrepressibly. He allowed himself to admire the sight fully this time, to revel in every golden and sun soaked inch of it. “Dare.”

“Touch me,” he whispered, and knew when the words were out of his mouth that they were absolutely the right thing to say. How could they not be, when they made Stanton look at him like that. “Properly, not just our thighs against each other or anything as meaningless as that.”

“You really must be drunk, if you regard thigh against thigh as not enough,” Stanton teased, but obeyed his command. They were far beyond the point of vetos now, both of them. One of the man’s hands lifted, and cradled the side of his face with a warm touch. The other hand twitched between them for a moment, and then also raised to press warmly against his chest in a way that he could feel so vividly through his own threadbare shirt.

They stared at each other for a long moment, both well aware of the final line lying between them. Both well aware that it was only the drink that’d brought them to this point, that in sober life they would’ve cheerfully repressed the thought of ever touching each other like this. Both well aware that the morning waited ahead, probably bringing unsettling horror in its wake.

Damn it. He spoke again, before he could see the brief hesitation in Stanton’s gaze blossom into anything more permanent. “Ask me, Hugo.”

Stanton hesitated for a single second more, and then gave another one of those irresistible smiles and lifted the hand on the side of his face up until it buried in the somewhat ruffled strands of his tonsure. “Truth or dare?”

He couldn’t help but smile in response, even if the expression felt unnatural on his face. Judging by the way that Stanton looked at him, the other man appreciated it amply. “Dare.”

“Please don’t hate me for this in the morning. Please don’t hate yourself,” Stanton said, his voice a desperate prayer, and made his decision too. Leaned all the way in, until he could smell the rich wine on the other man’s breath. “Kiss me. Kiss me like you mean it.”

And, well, if he was given a request like that… The protests of his sober self, which would presumably be legion and passionate, hardly seemed to matter.

He leant in and pressed his lips to Stanton’s, a touch tentatively. He’d never kissed anybody other than Richard before, and even then only when the man had been unable to dodge, and as such he couldn’t deny some slight uncertainty about the process. He knew that lips generally met, and that was the base criteria for success, but not much more than that. A small but rather insistent part of him expected that he’d immediately make a mess of it.

He shouldn’t have worried. Faced with as lovely a prospect as Stanton, his instincts immediately took over. He found himself leaning into the embrace eagerly, pressing their lips together actively instead of settling for nervous stillness. Stanton’s lips tasted of wine, and a little salt, and maybe even - though this was probably entirely the dreamings of a drunken mind - a shot of sunshine. The man’s body was warm against him, and vibrating with a barely leashed tension. His skin was incredibly soft.

It was that touch to Stanton’s skin, a tentative cupping of his cheek to mirror what the man was doing to him, that seemed to shake the man loose from the chains of politeness. Stanton’s hand tightened on the side of his face briefly, yanking at the strands of his hair in a _most_ pleasant way, and then he leant fully into the kiss as well. The two of them moving naturally together, instead of merely existing in the same place.

It was a shock, when Stanton’s clever tongue swiped across the seam of his lips, but hardly an unpleasant kind of one. He kept his mouth stubbornly shut for a moment, the alcohol giving him the courage to tease, and then relented when Stanton made a surprisingly desperate noise in the back of his throat. The man’s tongue in his mouth was awe-inspiringly strange for a moment, and then awe-inspiringly wonderful. He groaned, found himself clutching at Stanton as the man plundered his mouth.

The kiss had hardly been chaste from the start, they’d both been rather too ramped up for that, but now it grew downright filthy. He found himself pressing up against Stanton shamelessly, too drunk and high on arousal to care for even a moment about dignity. Stanton, for his part, held him so tightly that the air was crushed out of his lungs. They continued to move together, subtly adjusting for each other in a way that warmed his dazed heart in his chest. Their lips obviously remained on each other, hot and desperate.

Stanton let out another noise, this one resembling a _growl_ more than anything, and grasped him even tighter. Before he knew it he was being dragged practically onto the man’s lap, forced to straddle him in the sweetest way. He spared time for the briefest gasp, and then decided that sober him could feel horror at the vulnerable position later and got right back to the kissing. It was easier to feel Stanton in this position, every hard and masculine inch of him.

He felt Stanton clutch him tight for a moment more, one hand still tangled in his hair and the other now wrapped firmly around his waist, and then the man’s hands were moving on him. He felt clever fingers tugging at his waist band, but refused to pay them much heed with Stanton’s tongue still in his mouth. As such, it was somewhat of a surprise when the base of his shirt was tugged loose from his braies and the entire fall of fabric was lifted over his head a moment later. 

He broke loose from the kiss to gasp for air, frowned down at Stanton a touch disapprovingly. He had never thought to end up bare chested in his assistant’s lap, it was probably yet another thing for his sober self to fret over. “Is that really necessary?”

“Yes, absolutely,” Stanton answered, for some reason looking over his thoroughly unimpressive chest with greedy eyes, and gently pushed him back a little so he could yank his own shirt over his head. “We need more room.”

“Mm,” he said, possibly agreed to whatever Stanton had said, absently and reached out to touch that _glorious_ expanse of skin. Stanton’s chest was muscular, and covered liberally with golden hair. His stomach was flat, his shoulders were a great deal broader than his and his nipples were a shade of red designed to make the mouth water. He looked like some kind of greek god, which he regarded as an entirely appropriate blasphemy all things considered.

“Barling,” Stanton said, sounding amused. And then actually gave a husky laugh, when he utterly failed to heed the man’s words, and leaned in to nip teasingly at his ear. “Aelred, come _on_.”

He reluctantly slid off Stanton’s lap, trying to keep that magnificent chest in his sight at all times, and started a slow stumble towards the somewhat oversized bed standing in the centre of the room. It wasn’t too far away, surely he could get all the way there without his cock exploding in the interim.

Matters were somewhat complicated when Stanton caught up with him, and eagerly dragged him into his arms again, but only slightly so. They were surprisingly good at working with each other, after all. They moved towards the nearest flat surface at a slow but steady stagger, their bodies pressed together and their hands in each other’s hair and their tongues entwined so surely that he sincerely doubted the ability of anything to part them.

The backs of his knees hit the bed after both an eternity and no time at all, and he eagerly allowed himself to be tipped backwards until he was sprawled on the bed with only his legs dangling off. He immediately went up on his elbows, shuffled up on the rough blankets until there was enough room for the still amused Stanton to crawl right on after him.

The man straddled him on the bed this time, and immediately cupped his face to draw him into another kiss. He kissed back with vigor, even more excited when he realised that he had even more access to Stanton’s body here than he had on the remarkably uncooperative chair. He simply clutched at the man’s naked shoulders for a moment, appreciating the ripple of muscles under his greedy fingertips, and then daringly allowed his hands to trace lower. There was so much to explore, after all. The warm stretch of the man’s back, the endearing dimples of his spine, the curve of his hips…

His arse. Which, by the feel of it, was even more impressive than his chest. Stanton made a disbelieving noise into his mouth as he groped, and then drew back with a laughing growl and urged him into a slightly more upright position. He obeyed slightly reluctantly, but with full faith that Stanton would make it worth his while.

Stanton didn’t disappoint. He didn’t know how his sober self had ever thought the man disappointing, his sober self was obviously a fool. Stanton carefully attacked the laces of his left hose, and once they were vaguely undone drew the entire thing down his leg and discarded it carelessly to the side. The man repeated the process with the right one, this time adding an extra few caresses that left him shuddering and even more breathless than before. Once the entire process was done Stanton gave him a mischievous smile, and immediately lifted his ever so talented hands to the fastenings of his braies.

The feeling of his hard cock springing loose into the air was indescribable, a sense of relief that he’d never quite experienced before. He groaned at the sensation, and lapsed back onto the bed just to savour it a little more deeply. Judging by the way that Stanton was watching him, his eyes burning hot and utterly eager, the other man appreciated it just as much.

It was all almost perfect, but the one issue was that Stanton hadn’t yet joined him in a state of glorious nudity. He allowed himself to revel in the feeling of rough sheets against utterly bare skin for a moment more, and then propped himself up on his elbows and stared at Stanton pointedly.

Stanton was not frequently good at following instructions, it was a fact that his sober self had bemoaned often, but he certainly followed through when presented with a ready reward. The man gave him a hot smirk, and finally tore his eyes away from the intense perusal of his body in favour of sitting up on the bed. Stanton was a great deal less careful with his own clothes, but he could hardly bring himself to mind at this glorious juncture. The man tore off his hose with a lack of care so obvious that one of them actually ripped a little in the process, attacked his braies with the same spirit and threw the entire ragged bundle of cloth off the bed in the next moment.

And then… They were both naked. Together. In bed.

Nerves fluttered briefly in his stomach, and the small and sensible voice in his mind that ruled his sober life cried out in horror, but he quickly and brusquely calmed them. He sat himself a little further up on the bed, settling into a more comfortable position, and slowly extended his arms in Stanton’s direction. It was a plea, a clear show of vulnerability, but that was yet another thing that he refused to mind.

Stanton obeyed yet again. Twice in one day, that just had to be a record. The man stared at him for a hot and eager moment more, and then slid back onto the bed and over him. There was no straddling involved this time, Stanton simply lowered his body down and pressed them firmly together.

He let out a breathy gasp, almost overcome by sensation, and accepted Stanton’s mouth when he offered it. The kiss this time started out chaste, just lips against lips and Stanton’s hand ever so gently tracing the side of his face. Given their current positions, he had full faith that that position wouldn’t last for very long.

He was the one to turn it filthy again. Which was a surprise, but most definitely a welcome one. He clutched at Stanton’s shoulders initially, losing himself in the kiss, but soon remembered what that’d led to last time and immediately decided to speed up the process. Stanton’s arse was just as glorious as before, if not even more glorious now that it was bare. He took great pleasure in digging his fingers into it.

Stanton gave a noise that much resembled a yelp, and then gave a slightly self conscious laugh and kissed him again. Urged on by the groping, the incredibly enthusiastic groping if he did say so himself, the man soon started to move. Stopped lying still on top of him, kissing him tenderly, and started to rock down against his body instead.

It wasn’t quite sex, not yet, but it was a positive development. He tightened his one handed grip on Stanton’s arse, encouraging him into a steadily faster rocking motion that gave them both a decent amount of friction. Moved his free hand up to rest over Stanton’s hips, and encouragingly pressed down in an attempt to get himself just a little more weight.

Stanton was tentative at first, awkward as if this was brand new territory for him, but soon grasped what he wanted. His grind had been slow at first, but soon grew into a deliberate roll that sent precome from that rather impressive cock smearing over his skin. He lowered his body fully down, crushed him into the bed with a steady deliberation that had him gasping with pleasure. He even kept kissing him throughout, as if he wanted this to be something more than a filthy and regrettable interlude to be soon forgotten.

Interesting. He’d never had anybody want to _remember_ him before.

He shoved the strange feelings in his chest down deliberately, as there was no point in focusing on them now, and simply focused on keeping up the momentum instead. They rocked together like that for a long few moments, a long few minutes, maybe even a long few days. Time seemed to slow, and stretch out in a haze of heat. There was only the two of them, and the movement of their bodies together.

And then Stanton, _glorious_ Stanton who was both devilishly attractive and an obvious genius, decided to increase the intensity a little. Carefully shifted down the bed, deliberately making sure not to elbow him at any point, and thrust forward until their hard cocks brushed up against each other instead.

That felt… He wasn’t one for blasphemy, not even in moments such as these, but in that moment he came closer than he ever had before. It felt astonishing, better than almost anything he’d felt before. He let out a strangled whimper, surged into Stanton’s mouth and clutched the man even harder than he had before. His arousal had already been a constant presence, burning hot in his stomach, but now it took on the intensity of a wildfire.

Stanton swore into his mouth, which he couldn’t criticize given his current feelings. And then drew back with another oath, which he most certainly could criticize because it put that delicious tongue beyond his reach. He let out a protesting noise, dug his fingers into Stanton’s soft flesh rather pointedly.

“Hush,” Stanton said, with a breathless laugh, and gently reached out to tease some of his sweaty hair away from his forehead. “I’m not stopping, don’t worry. I just wanted to know if you had any…”

He frowned as Stanton trailed off, maintained his grip on the man’s arse. “Any what?”

“I’ve never done this before, and I don’t know if you have,” Stanton admitted shyly, and he was briefly and uncomfortably reminded of how little they actually knew about each other. “But, uh, just from stuff I’ve heard I think we might need something to ease the way.”

His mind whited out for a moment, utterly unable to cope with all the implications of _that_. Suddenly a thousand possibilities had opened up in front of him yet again, except this time all of them were the best options that he’d ever been offered in his entire lifetime.

“You inside me?” He blurted, breathless and eager, before Stanton could follow through on that worried expression and recall him to disappointing reality.

“ _Yes_ ,” Stanton said, his voice a choked off growl. The man had to have been considering it before, wouldn’t have suggested it otherwise, but by the flush on his face and the utter eagerness in his eyes the possibility of it had just come triumphantly home to him. “That is, if we have anything _to_ ease the-”

“There’s something that’ll work in my writing pack. I generally use it to keep my quills in fine condition, but it should work well enough in a pinch,” he interrupted, too eager to be polite in any way, and reluctantly released his grip on Stanton’s arse. “Go get it _now_ , Hugo.”

Stanton blinked for a second, his hair ruffled and his eyes wide and an expression of disbelieving joy upon his face, but obeyed immediately in the next. He slid off the bed so fast that it was a wonder he didn’t do himself an injury, scrambled over to where they’d left their packs against the wall and was back by his side in the next moment with a pot clutched tight in his eager fingers.

He stared at Stanton for a moment, awestruck, and then shook himself and reminded that being awestruck wouldn’t get him actually fucked. He took a moment to remember what he’d once done, long ago and in a just slightly more sober state, and then spread his legs and arched them at the knee. There might be other parts to the process, other parts that the alcohol still in his system was stubbornly hiding from him, but this seemed a good enough place to start.

“Hugo,” he said, when the man only stared at him in a dazed way, and narrowly bit back on a smile as Stanton turned worshipful eyes up to his face. “It’s really not that complicated a process. Just coat your fingers as thoroughly as possible, and open me up a little.”

Stanton stared at him for a long moment, a flush suffusing his fair features, and then gave a small smile and unscrewed the lid of the pot. Inside was some oil, definitely not meant for this purpose but absolutely usable in a pinch. Stanton didn’t hesitate for even a moment before sliding his fingers into it, coating them thoroughly and drawing them out only when they were entirely covered. The man did pause for a moment before sliding them between his thighs, but that seemed more about judging the correct angle than anything else.

Richard had regarded preparing him as a chore, one only to be indulged in because it was near impossible to get inside him otherwise. As such he found himself tensing as Stanton slowly stroked over his hole, wondering if this entire dreamlike experience was about to descend into a nightmare.

He should’ve had more faith in Stanton. Should always have more faith in Stanton, really. When the man finally slid his finger inside, his movements were slow and careful. He hesitated for a moment, presumably getting used to the press of flesh all around his digit, and then slowly started to rotate it inside. He found himself gasping for air, shuddering slightly as Stanton’s caresses went deeper and deeper.

“Are you alright?” Stanton asked, his eyes slipping quickly between his eyes and his face. He seemed concerned, desperate to make this experience as good for him as possible.

“Yes,” he said, simply, because he wasn’t quite sure how to put the sudden warmth in his chest into words. He drew in a deep breath, and then propped himself up on his elbows again. Grunted, as the movement drove Stanton’s finger a little deeper into his body. “You can add another finger, if you want, and then I should be ready.”

Stanton’s eyes grew heated and desperate, as he briefly withdrew to coat his second finger more thoroughly in oil. He still paused to look up at him, though, before he plunged all the way back in. “Are you sure?”

“Absolutely sure, yes,” he said, pleased when his voice emerged bone dry instead of overwhelmed with any unfortunate emotion. Any attempt at dignity, however, was soon lost when Stanton took him at his word and gently pushed both his fingers in at once. The stretch was far more than it had been before, utterly unexpected after so many years without. The stretch was glorious, one of the most sublime experiences that he’d ever had the pleasure of.

Stanton took in a deep and ragged breath, he heard it with his eyes closed, and then set up the same slow rhythm as before. He didn’t rush, or push, or treat it as an unfortunate side trip before the main event. Instead he remained thorough, slow, absolutely careful as if he was something precious to be treated tenderly. This was just a drunken fling, something to be regretted in the morning, but somehow he couldn’t quite help but feel that it was heading towards more.

And then Stanton brushed against a certain, dimly remembered spot inside him and all thought mercifully flew out from his head. He found himself arching up off the bed instead, fucking down onto Stanton’s hand as pleasure flared through him. He had denied himself this for so long, and he knew that it was for good reason but it was rather hard to remember that when his entire body had turned liquid with desire.

“Oh,” was the only thing Stanton said, the man’s eyes wide and awestruck. It was as if he’d never seen something so perfect before, as if he was on the point of dissolving with desire himself as he watched him lapse back to the bed. “ _Oh_.”

He gasped for air for a long few moments, his mind frazzled. It was only after about a minute that he could open his eyes again, fix on Stanton’s awestruck face and summon up something resembling words. “I’m ready now.”

Stanton hesitated for a moment, looking like he was about to check again, but mercifully seemed to decide that discretion was the better part of valour. The man took in a deep breath instead, and removed those long and talented fingers from inside his body. Automatically slid them back into the pot of oil, and coated his own cock with a few thorough strokes.

Stanton was longer than Richard, and a bit wider. The fact should’ve probably caused another resurgence of nerves, but instead he only felt a little smug and a lot eager. He deliberately spread his legs again, willingly let Stanton slide between them and lower his perfect body down over his again.

The first nudge of Stanton’s cock against his prepared hole sent an entirely unexpected surge of sensation all the way through him. He gasped, not having expected such a vivid feeling already, and Stanton jerked in response. Instead of pushing in the man’s cock slid off, brushed briefly and teasingly against his balls before returning to its proper position. He felt Stanton draw in a deep breath above him, a nervous one.

For once, the other man was more uncertain than him. It was an entirely new dynamic, and he found that he didn’t like it overmuch. He wrapped his arms around Stanton’s back again, held his shoulders in a loose embrace and whispered a kiss against his ear. “It’s alright, you can do this. Just take it slow.”

Stanton nuzzled sideways into the kiss, obviously weak under his approval. It was a revelation, to have his words mean so much to another person. “I just don’t want to hurt you. I want it to be as good for you as it is for me.”

Richard, when they went to bed together, had never really cared about hurting him. Richard had always been perfectly happy to pin him to the mattress, and make him yelp. Richard had only cared about his own pleasure, had considered the feelings of his partner completely and utterly irrelevant. Richard-

Maybe it was time he stopped thinking about Richard.

“This is already good for me. It’s the best time I’ve ever had in bed,” He said, perfectly honest and wonderfully glad for the alcohol loosening his tongue, and took advantage of Stanton’s gasp to turn the man’s head carefully towards him. “I trust you. Just keep going, you’ll be fine.”

“You know what, I think I like drunk you almost as much as sober you,” Stanton confessed, with a startled blink. And then, mercifully, took him at his word before he could start overthinking as he always did. The man took his cock in hand, and slowly guided it into his entrance.

There was a burn at first. Of course there was, he hadn’t done this for so many years and it’d been a bit of an ache back then. He was determined to get through it, determined to experience the endless pleasures doubtlessly waiting on the other side. He breathed in through his nose, deliberately tried to relax his body as Stanton let out an awestruck noise above him and slowly moved deeper and deeper.

Stanton bottomed out in him with a groan, and rested there for a long few moments. The man was trembling in his arms, seemed close to utterly overwhelmed. All he could do was hold on for a long few moments, cling to the man’s shoulders and wait until the ache of being filled lessened and then vanished entirely. He distracted himself by peppering kisses across the side of Stanton’s face, reminding the man that they were in this together and he wasn’t likely to vanish any time soon.

It worked, to his profound relief. A few moments after the ache had vanished, and a slowly building pleasure had started to take its place, Stanton drew in a deep and ragged breath and drew back a little to prop himself on his elbows. Their eyes met for a long few moments, a silent acknowledgement of what was happening between them. And then Stanton gave a small smile, and started to move his hips.

Stanton moved slowly at first, obviously still getting used to being inside a man instead of a woman. The man went carefully, feeling his way out with every single movement. It was as if he actually cared for his reaction, as if he’d actually meant what he’d said earlier about wanting this to be good for the both of them. Stanton’s talented hands mapped his body as his hips slowly moved, ferreting out the places that made him wriggle and moan.

He found himself incredibly glad for the alcohol, yet again. The intervention of liquor allowed him to be utterly shameless. He remained helpfully silent at the points where he experienced no sensation, and moaned eagerly at the points where he wanted Stanton to touch more. His hair, his ribs, the small area of his back that Stanton could reach while he was on top… All were explored, and all were met with an incredibly eager moan.

Emboldened by his reaction, which was incredibly flattering all things considered, Stanton’s movements started to increase in confidence. The man no longer touched teasingly, but rather with a certain amount of deliberation: tugging briefly at his hair, running teasing fingertips along his ribs, scratching briefly at his back until he shuddered and cried out. Stanton’s thrusts increased in confidence too, settled into a leisurely rolling motion seemingly designed to melt his brain between his ears.

He was hardly opposed to this. As a matter of fact, he found himself utterly eager for it. He allowed himself to sink into sensation in a way that he hadn’t for over a decade. Gave himself utterly over to the feeling of Stanton’s hands in his hair, over his ribs, on his back and making him gasp senseless pleasure. He met the man’s thrusts with eager ones of his own, set up a proper rhythm between them that made them both gasping and weak.

Their steady motion had a secondary benefit, one that he’d barely thought to hope for. Stanton moaned out a desperate breath, his voice low and filthy, and shifted on top of him just a little. It was only the slightest change in position, one that he barely noticed at first, but it enabled Stanton to get just the slightest bit deeper inside him. And before he knew it, before he could even brace for it…

He cried out loud as that spot of pleasure inside him was brushed up against yet again, this time with the blunt head of a cock instead of the fleeting pressure of fingers, and arched fully up into Stanton’s body. He’d been enjoying this before, of course he had, but suddenly it seemed as if he’d crossed a line. Every part of him felt glorious, from where Stanton’s cock pushed open his hole to where Stanton’s hands had come to rest on his waist. He felt owned entirely, and had never been so pleased at the thought.

Their rhythm had settled into a steady roll, but now quickly started to pick up speed. Stanton hit his prostate again, with what he felt was a certain amount of smugness, and then a third time before he could catch his breath. In retaliation, for something like that rather _deserved_ retaliation, he lifted his legs until he could wrap them around Stanton’s hips and _clenched_ around the man’s cock.

He shuddered around Stanton, and Stanton shuddered within him. They kept up their rhythm, but only by the skin of their teeth. They were starting to fall apart now, starting to quickly unravel from any kind of control. There was only the flood of sensation, only the two of them moving so very desperately together. He’d never experienced anything like this before, he found himself hoping - with the passion of alcohol and arousal, all mixed together - that he would definitely experience something of the sort again.

Stanton was slicked with sweat now, desperate and gasping. He couldn’t see much of the man, clinging to him like a limpet as he was, but what he could see was very promising. Stanton’s golden curls were in disarray, Stanton’s eyes were closed and his chest was heaving with the force of his breathing. Before long the man lapsed entirely, buried his face desperately in his shoulder and whimpered as he drove himself ever onwards towards a desperate conclusion.

He was equally undone, just a step behind in the loss of dignity. He found himself behaving like a madman, like he’d been reduced to a core of pure and animal pleasure. He dug his nails into the tender skin of Stanton’s shoulderblades, locked his legs even tighter around Stanton’s waist, clenched his inner walls around Stanton’s penetrating cock. He held on as hard as he could, and refused to think about the consequences. It was hard to, after all, with such overwhelming pleasure flooding through him.

Stanton was the first one to tip over the edge, gasping and desperate. He felt the man go rigid on top of him for a long moment, and then heard a low whimper and felt a surge of dampness inside as the man reached his peak. Stanton collapsed on top of him in a heavy fall of limbs, going limp with the force of his release. The man seemed utterly boneless, undone and debauched in the best of ways.

Luckily enough, considering that Stanton seemed out of his head with pleasure, he followed him over in the next moment. He hadn’t experienced an orgasm in so very long, and the feeling was utterly overwhelming. For a long few moments his vision whited out, and there was only pure pleasure and content weariness and the feeling of Stanton’s cock still warm and pulsing inside him,

 _Bliss_.

They laid together in the aftermath for a long few moments, both gasping and boneless. Stanton was still inside him, his legs were still wrapped loosely around Stanton’s hips. They probably could’ve moved quite easily, probably _should’ve_ moved quite quickly, but somehow he didn’t feel inclined to press the issue. It was pointless, after all, what with them both still drunk and the morning still hours away. He felt a certain urge to let himself have this, to let himself have a few moments of pleasure before the habitual guilt came flooding back in.

As if the man had read his mind, Stanton groaned above him and slowly propped himself up on his elbows. The man’s eyes were dark, and slightly nervous, as he stared down into his doubtlessly debauched face. “Do you think that we’re going to regret this, in the morning?”

“If we do, the sin was equal,” he said, huskily, and felt the truth of it in his bones. Let his future self, his sober self, worry about consequences and awkwardness and bone deep misery. For now he could be drunk, for now he could be happy. “Kiss me again.”

Stanton hesitated for a moment more. And then gave one of his irresistible smiles, and willingly obeyed the command.


End file.
